


Finding Comfort

by Downfall



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M, First Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-29
Updated: 2011-05-29
Packaged: 2017-10-20 14:30:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/213759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Downfall/pseuds/Downfall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two Ferelden expatriates find each other in the Free Marches.  Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/205161">Escape into Dreams</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finding Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted from the Dragon Age kink meme.

Even after her one, disastrous trip into the Deep Roads, Bethany couldn’t get used to being underground.

It was the complete lack of daylight that got to her the most, actually. That and the constant sense that the walls were looming in upon her. She’d tried to talk to the other Wardens about it, but one of the dwarfs had started laughing at her fears and after that none of them really gave her the time of day. Literally; Bethany had lost track of if it was day or night weeks ago.

The stronghold, Warden’s Watch, was a few tens of thousands of feet of Deep Road tunnels, partitioned to give the illusions of individual rooms. The claimed tunnels terminated with thick bulwarks, guarded at all hours and infrequently assailed. When she’d first arrived the Wardens had told Bethany that plans were afoot to retake the Deep Roads intersection by intersection, but in the time she’d been there they’d done little more than fend off the stray darkspawn that wandered to them. It was as if the Wardens had collectively decided to take a holiday since the destruction of the archdemon.

Bethany cried herself to sleep for a week after she arrived. She wasn’t worried about her brother; he would laugh at the worst Kirkwall could throw at him and thrive through it. It was their mother Bethany worried about. Losing Carver had been hard enough on her, but Bethany could only wonder at how Leandra was suffering with another of her children gone. Bethany had a screaming argument in her first days at the Watch with the Warden-Commander when he’d refused her leave to return to Kirkwall, and after that she’d withdrawn almost completely from the other Wardens. She hadn’t cried since.

Worse than the constant claustrophobia were the accents. Everyone here spoke with the brogue of Starkhaven or the lilt of Orlais. Nothing sounded like Lothering, nothing sounded like home. Being constantly surrounded by people whose very voices reminded her that she would never see her family again weighed on Bethany. It was because of her desperation to hear anything from home that her ears picked out the new arrival’s voice instantly, even from across the chamber.

“Ah, hello. I’m looking for the Warden in charge? Tell him Alistair’s looking to report in.”

*

When he first saw her, Maker help him, he thought she was Morrigan. That was actually what got his attention.

She was sitting alone, facing the wall and ignored by the other Wardens going about their business. Her dark hair and sullen expression were familiar, but when he got to her eyes they were a disappointing hazel. Very light hazel, a hint of amber if you were really looking for it, but hazel nonetheless.

“So you’re the Hero of Ferelden, eh?” The Warden-Commander was tall, for an elf, and looked at Alistair with open suspicion. “You’ll have to tell me how you lived through slaying the archdemon sometime.”

“Not much to it, really,” Alistair replied glibly. “Took about the same effort as not dying at any other moment.”

The Commander was not amused, and Alistair felt his hopes of an easy transfer plummet. This man was no Duncan. “And why, Hero, are you here in the Free Marches when I am to understand that there is exactly one Warden left in all of Ferelden?”

“Political reasons. The queen wants me dead.” He thought for a moment. “Well, I guess that’s more of a personal reason. But the point is my staying would have made things very difficult between the Wardens and the crown.”

“I see,” the elf said. “We’ll add you to the patrol rotations, assuming of course that someone of your celebrity will consent to such a mundane task.”

Alistair offered a smile. “It’ll have to do until the next archdemon comes around.” The Commander shook his head and pointed Alistair towards the barracks. When he looked around, not-Morrigan was watching him, the ghost of a smile quirking at the corner of her lip.

*

He was from Ferelden. The _Hero_ of Ferelden, no less. If nothing else it made for a good conversation starter.

Bethany seated herself next to him a the barracks meal table. The Commander noticed, looking between her and the isolated spot at the end of the table she usually took. She ignored him as best she could, offering her hand to Alistair. “Bethany Hawke.”

“Alistair. Good to meet you.” He took her hand. “Been here long?”

“Not at all, I’m afraid. Only a few weeks.”

“A brand-new Warden eh? I remember those days. All the excitement, the thrilling stories about Wardens of yore riding to battle on gryphons…”

Bethany forced a smile. “Actually it’s more been quiet and constant headaches.”

Alistair frowned at her. “You were Conscripted, weren’t you? Not a volunteer? Nobody warned you about the dreams, or hearing _them_ clawing at the edges of your attention?” Bethany shook her head. “I see. No, it is quite a headache. I wish I could say it got easier.”

“But it doesn’t?”

He grinned, and Bethany had to take a moment to draw her attention from his dimples. “Well, a bit. Certainly quieted down after the archdemon died.”

“Yes, I wanted to thank you for that,” Bethany said.

“All in a day’s work.” Alistair thought for a second. “Although that wasn’t even the hard part. Can you _imagine_ how difficult it was to get the archdemon carcass off the top of Fort Draken? Spectacular view from up there, splendid spot for a fight, but really quite inconsiderate to everyone who had to clean up after.” Bethany laughed at that, surprising herself with the sound of it.

*

The Commander placed them on different patrol rotations, and it was a few days before their paths crossed again. Alistair found her pacing at the intersection leading back up to the surface. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“Hoping my mother’s well,” she said distractedly. “She was devastated when my brother died, and to her my being here isn’t much different for her. She lost almost everything when we fled Lothering, and since then life’s taken even more away.”

Alistair nodded sympathetically. “You left Lothering just ahead of the darkspawn?”

“Yes,” He instantly regretted saying anything because the expression that came over her face was just so downright _miserable_. “Not many of us made it; maybe a dozen fled town with us, but only my mother and one of my brothers made it with me. And Aveline.”

“We must have just missed each other then,” he replied with false lightness. “I was in Lothering a few days after the battle of Ostagar. Seemed like a very nice place.”

She looked at him with wide eyes, tears beginning to brim at the edges and all he could think was _oh Maker what have you done now_. She came close, sobbing and he embraced her carefully. “I’ve had _no one_ ,” she gasped, “no one who could say that. Everyone in Kirkwall is contemptuous of refugees and I just _got_ a new home and then I had to give it up to be trapped here alone underground and no one has even come to _visit_ me down here…!”

“Hey, hey.” He stroked her hair and tried to think of something soothing to say. “Hey,” was the best he could manage.

Bethany gave a few more shuddering sobs, but she seemed to worn herself down quickly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

“I know a thing or two about not being able to go home,” Alistair said. “You’re looking at a man who can’t set foot in Ferelden under threat of death. By order of the Queen, no less.” Bethany gave a choked laugh at that. “No, that part’s actually serious. Bit of a despot, that one.”

“Oh,” she replied simply. She turned away, wiping at her eyes. “I’m sorry if I brought anything uncomfortable up.” Bethany reached out, touching Alistair’s arm and letting her fingers linger. “Thank you. I needed that.”

“Any time,” he said quickly. In his embarrassment he hadn’t noticed, but now he could feel a firmness in his smallclothes. _Have you lost your mind? She’s mourning her home and you’re…you’re…_ “That’s what I’m here for, make people feel better and witty one-liners.”

“Maybe…again, sometime,” she said. Her touch still loitered, and that definitely wasn’t helping his problem below. _Oh Maker I’m a whore._

*

She’d actually been eating lunch when the alarm went out.

“East passage! Big group, ogre and more!” Bethany snatched up her staff and bolted towards the sound of combat. For all the Wardens talked up their ability to sense the darkspawn, it was damned useless down here in the Deep Roads where the monsters almost constantly surrounded them. She could _smell_ the darkspawn before she turned the corner, but what she saw shocked her.

The ogre had lead the charge, bashing into the bulwark and shattering it like so much kindling. Darkspawn flooded through the breech, easily several dozen of them. Already several Wardens lay dead and the darkspawn were surging forward to make more corpses. Several had already spotted her, and Bethany felt her bowels chill as she realized there was nothing between her and them but their swords.

“ _For Ferelden!_ And…and _for the Free Marches_!” Alistair rushed the mass of darkspawn, his shield raised and tumbling them aside. “Is that the best you can do?!” Bethany raised her hands, flames leaping from her fingers to immolate the monsters around him. “You’ve got good aim there!” An emissary snapped at him, gathering its spells around itself. Before Bethany could shield him or even shout, the creature launched a blast of vile energies at Alistair and to her astonishment the discharge faded away before it reached him. He laughed and _glared_ at the emissary, and even from a distance Bethany could feel the mana stripped away from it.

 _Oh Maker, he’s a templar_.

A bellow reverberated through the chamber, and Bethany clapped her hands over her ears. Wincing, she looked up to see the ogre towering over Alistair. It swept him up, drawing back a fist and pummeling it into his belly. For a moment, Bethany wasn’t in the Deep Roads, she was in the hills outside of Lothering and the ogre was pounding Carver into the ground and there was blood everywhere and-

“No. _No_!” She reached out and _shoved_ , launching the massive beast back. Alistair fell to the ground, panting for breath, and she cast healing spells over him, letting her energies revitalize him. Even with that, he was obviously grievously hurt. The ogre had regained its feet, and Bethany raised her staff across her body. The monster roared and she roared back, gathering her energies. A confused expression crossed the ogre’s face and its roar faltered as it felt raw force wrapping around its innards; Bethany allowed it a moment to realize what was happening before she spread her arms wide and tore the beast in two.

Wardens and darkspawn battled around her but Bethany ignored them, falling to her knees at Alistair’s side. She laid her hands on him, pouring energy into his wounds. He looked up at her, smiling feebly, and Bethany couldn’t stop herself from grinning back at him.

*

Being the Hero of Ferelden lent Alistair certain privileges, like having his own quarters in the barracks. Either that or the Commander didn’t trust him to mix with the other Wardens.

Alistair sat on the edge of his cot, pressing his fingers against his bruises like checking for soft spots on a fruit. Bethany was a fine healer, not Wynne-fine but fine none the less. Alistair groaned as he felt a stirring in his smallclothes.

“All right, yes, I said it. She’s _fine_. No need to make a big deal about it.” His erection ignored his scorn, continuing to firm. Alistair grimaced at his lap, and unfastened his small clothes. _This is ridiculous. I barely know her_. His hands slowly made their way down, both hands wrapping around his shaft and slowly working up and down. Alistair groaned quietly, laying out on his cot. _She’s lonely, and…and vulnerable. It’s not right to fantasize about the curve of her chest…dammit_. He flushed red but his hands didn’t stop, adding a twisting motion.

He imagined her lips on his, feeling her body against his, feeling her mouth open as she moaned. In his mind’s eye she pulled away, eyes demurely cast down as she pulled open the laces of her robe, exposing her breast to him. She looked back up at him, a sneer crossing her lips and distain in her amber eyes.

“Ah!” Alistair sat up, grunting as the motion strained his abused muscles. The image of Morrigan faded from his eyes, leaving only the sight of Bethany exposing herself and Alistair’s embarrassment. “Maker,” he muttered, wiping his hands on the sheet.

*

It had taken some doing to convince the Commander to let her take care of Alistair’s recovery, but the elf had accepted her reasoning that the normal healers had enough to deal with. She shifted a basket of poultices to her hip, rapping on the doorframe to his quarters. “Alistair?”

“Come on in, it’s just a tent flap. Nothing that can stop you.” _Can’t be feeling that badly if he can quip_ she thought, pushing the fabric aside and stepping in. Alistair reclined on his cot, scrubbing at his chestplate. “One good thing the Chantry beat into me was the importance of keeping one’s equipment well-maintained.”

Bethany placed the basket on the cot, offering him a healing potion. “Yes, I was wondering when you were going to tell me you were a templar.”

“Oh. Right. That.” Alistair took the potion in a single shot. “I know that’s the sort of thing that makes mages nervous. Alyna, the mage I worked with in Ferelden always got antsy around templars.”

“Let me see,” Bethany said, gesturing to his shirt.

“What? Are you serious?” Bethany gave him a withering look as she squatted in front of him and he sighed. “All right, all right. I’m healing beautifully. Thank you for that.”

 _Beautiful_ was a word that crossed Bethany’s mind as he bared his muscled chest, but it had nothing to do with his healing. She refocused herself on his wounds; a cursory spell showed that the broken ribs had knitted back together, and the bruising had faded to yellow. “It looks…good,” she said. She leaned up, her nose almost touching his. “Alistair? What would you do if I said I very much wanted to kiss you?”

“Ah…well…” he stammered, looking away nervously. “I think it would, ah…be good to tell you, only polite really, that I _have_ once, um…licked a lamppost. And it was a bit complicated.”

Bethany smiled quizzically. “I don’t mind if you’ve slept with men before.”

“What? No, that’s not…what I meant. Though I could see how you could think that. ‘Licked a lamppost,’ what was I thinking?” Bethany leaned back as he stood and crossed to his footlocker. She watched him, and Alistair produced a bundle of cloth. “I wondered if you’d be willing to wear this for me. Please don’t turn me into a toad.”

She took the bundle from him, bemused as he turned away blushing. “If it’s too much just tell me, and I’ll…well I’ll be really embarrassed.” Bethany unraveled the bundle, puzzling over the items; a hair tie, a gaudy oversized necklace, a pair of black leather trousers and a strip of rust-brown fabric that could be called a shift of one were _extremely_ generous. She glanced at Alistair’s back as he fidgeted, then back down to the items. _Well, to each their own_.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Alistair said. “This is silly, I shouldn’t have asked you…I’m sorry.” His apologies were ramping up desperately, and Bethany opened the fastenings of her robe, letting it deliberately and loudly crumple to the floor. Alistair’s rambling stopped immediately.

Bethany unwound the band across her breasts, dropping it atop her robe. She pulled the trousers on, laid the large necklace over her chest and bundled her hair up at the nape of her neck. Finally, she tried to arrange the shift over herself to best protect her modesty, then gave up when she realized it was both impossible and not really what she wanted anyway. She posed, placing her hands on her hips, and cleared her throat. Alistair half-turned, peeking over his shoulder before openly gawking.

“I’m not a toad.”

“You’re not a toad,” she answered, smiling. “Now perhaps you’ll consent to do something for me?”

“What’s that?”

“I want to see you, Alistair. There can’t be any bashfulness while I’m dressed like this.” Alistair grinned, pulling off his trousers and small clothes. Bethany’s breath caught at the sight of him, the rippling muscles, the maze of faint healed scars, the cut lines leading from his pelvis down to…”Wow.” Alistair flushed past his grin. He stood awkwardly, and Bethany pointed to the bed. “Sit down. Show me how you pleasure yourself.”

Alistair sat back, legs spread and stroked himself lightly. Bethany shifted her pose, running her hands up her sides, watching Alistair’s eyes flare as she pressed her breasts together. _Oh, Isabela. Maybe you’re right about men only good for the one thing, but what a thing it is_. His motions quickened, and Bethany realized that he was beginning to frenzy. She leaned forward, placing her hands on his shoulders and offering a view of her heavy breasts hanging freely. “I’ve never been intimate with someone before.”

Bethany’s words sobered him, and he pulled his hand away. He stood, pulling her into a firm embrace. She kissed him deeply, pressing her tongue experimentally into his mouth. Alistair cupped her breasts, finding her peaking nipples and she moaned outright as he squeezed firmly. They both froze, suddenly conscious that only the thin flap of fabric protected their privacy, and looked to each other. Bethany saw her own carnal _want_ reflected in Alistair’s eyes.

She pushed him back, his legs catching at the edge of the cot and laying him out flat. She worked open the belt of the trousers, peeling them down her legs and crawling over Alistair. She could feel the wetness at the end of his erection against her thigh, and smiled at his obvious arousal. She straddled his hips, leaning down to kiss his lips. “Be gentle?” He nodded, and Bethany led the head of his penis into her sex.

Alistair gave a drawn-out hiss of pleasure and Bethany bit her lip as she felt herself adjust around him. As she felt the pressure ease she took more of his length into herself, finally setting her hips over his and closing her eyes against the twinge of pain as the last of her chastity left her. She nodded, and Alistair began thrusting gently, little more than rocking his hips. Bethany leaned back, letting her fingers find her clitoris and rubbing against it in time with Alistair’s motions. _He’s new to this too_ , she realized as his face began contorting. His fingers gripped at her thighs and Bethany gasped as much from the pressure as the naked lust. A tightness began low in her belly, and Bethany almost whined as her fingers teased out greater and greater sensation; Alistair was grunting and she could feel him twitching inside her and a jolt shot through her, hair coming loose as her head tossed back and, and…

Bethany collapsed forward, catching herself on her hands. Panting, she looked down to see Alistair looking back at her with a mix of vulnerability and reverence. She roll over, pressing herself to his side, and Alistair stroked her cheek and drew her in for a deep kiss.

“Sorry, sorry. Promise I can _usually_ last a little longer.” He coughed self-consciously. “It’s just a, ah, enticing outfit is all, and…”

Bethany trailed a finger down his chest. “That was…”

“Wondrous?” Alistair finished hopefully.

Bethany laughed. “Not quite. Not yet. But maybe next time? We’ll have to practice.” Alistair’s grin said he liked that idea quite a bit.


End file.
